"No, I didn't.” Michael's voice held an edge of annoyance. “Nor do I fly. We waste time, here. Monica's killing spree has only just begun. We have to stop her."
Nikki pushed the hair out of her eyes. “To stop her we have to find her. Unless you have some means of tracking her, I have to get inside that house and grab something of hers."
"I can trace her, to a certain extent.” Michael hesitated, then frowned. “If you enter the house, she'll know. It's home ground, the place she lived most of her life. She's still connected to it."
"Another one who believes in vampires,” Jake muttered.
Nikki ignored him. “Is it true a vampire can't cross a threshold uninvited?" Michael nodded. “Yes, but the rule doesn't work when it's your own threshold."
"Oh."
She glanced uneasily at the mansion. Monica had to be stopped before she could kill again. If she wasn't here, they had to find her. Which meant she had to go in and steal something still holding the teenager's psyche. She doubted Trevgard would actually lend them another bracelet. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and glanced at Jake. “Let's get this over with." They walked to the far end of the house. Jake climbed the steps and approached the side door cautiously. Something flickered through her mind, a specter of darkness, of death. She studied the brightly-lit windows above them.
The servants haven't been dead long.
Surprised, she looked at Michael. How can you tell something like that?
I can smell the blood.
His eyes were icy pools that somehow intensified, washing darkness through her mind. Dizzy, she reached out, catching his arm. A shock of electricity ran through her fingers, and a haze filled her vision. Suddenly, their minds merged, for an instant becoming one. She could see the bodies in the room above, feel the cooling heat of their flesh, could almost taste the sweet dark pools of blood—her stomach rose. She blanched, shuddering.
Michael shattered the contact between them. She staggered away from him, one hand held to her throat. Dear God, what sort of talent was that?
"Don't ever do that again, Nikki.” His voice was gentle, but there was both surprise and anger in his expression. “It's far too dangerous for you."
He didn't explain how it had happened or why it was dangerous, and she didn't dare ask. Something told her she might not like the answers.
"The door's locked,” Jake said into the silence.
She turned away from Michael and gave another mental push. The door opened gently, and Jake raised a surprised eyebrow.
She shrugged in reply and climbed the steps. Warm air rushed past her legs as she stopped in front of the open door. Light filtered down the stairs at the far end of the hall, but the rest of the house was a no-man's-land of uneasy shadows.
Jake turned on the flashlight and swung the beam left to right, searching the darkness.
"Nothing.” His voice was hushed, as if he too sensed death waiting. “I guess we'd better check upstairs." She fought the sudden rise of her stomach. Death waited upstairs, and she really didn't want to face it again. “After you."
"I cannot go inside,” Michael said quietly. “While you two can give a plausible enough excuse for being here, I can't. I'll wait here and watch for Monica."
Jake motioned her to hurry. She hesitated, glancing back at Michael. “And if she eludes you?"
"I'll warn you,” he replied. “And I want you out fast. Remember, she'll be quicker than a rattlesnake and twice as deadly."
"Thanks. I really needed to know that."
He shrugged. His eyes were as frightening as the house. “Go. Just take care." After a second's hesitation, she stepped through the doorway and followed Jake. They climbed the stairs. At the top, death waited.
"Shit,” Jake said, and stopped in the doorway of the first room. Though warned by the images she'd shared with Michael, her stomach still turned. The bodies were a twisted mass of flesh that no longer resembled anything human. Blood lay everywhere. If it hadn't been for the bits of humanity scattered about, it would have been easy to think some kid had gone wild with a can of red paint.
"Monica obviously had more than one score to settle.” Jake took several steps into the room. “And for a vampire, she's damn messy."
Nikki gave him a sharp glance. His ironic half smile told her he was only trying to make a tough situation somewhat easier. Told her he still refused to believe Monica was a vampire. He picked his way through the smashed furniture and knelt next to what was left of the butler. Why, she had no idea. Certainly there was no hope of life in what was left of him.
Grab some of the wood.
She frowned. Why in the hell would I do that?
It's wood, Nikki. Michael's mental tone was brusque. Deadly to vampires in any form. She picked up the smashed leg of a chair. A little too thick perhaps, but nicely jagged at one end ... She blanched and almost dropped it. Where the hell had that thought come from?